


Heliotropism

by Orichalxos



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Fluff, GROW BETTER, Gardener Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, opinionated orchids, vegetable theology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 02:37:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21246113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orichalxos/pseuds/Orichalxos
Summary: There's a certain vague vegetable intelligence about plants. Nothing that can be perceived by human eyes or ears, of course; nothing that fully qualifies as sentience, not quite.By comparison, the plants in Crowley's flat were the equivalent of a philosophers' guild. A terrified one.--Aziraphale has a conversation with Crowley's garden.





	Heliotropism

There's a certain vague vegetable intelligence about plants. Nothing that can be perceived by human eyes or ears, of course; nothing that fully qualifies as sentience, not quite. 

It takes superhuman senses to register the existence of this intelligence; that, and a lot of practice at listening patiently. 

This intelligence is somewhat more developed in places where supernatural beings of one sort or another have been nearby; fairy groves, undead swamps, and so forth. It is slightly even more developed in places where those beings are _paying attention_ to them. 

By comparison, the plants in Crowley's flat were the equivalent of a philosophers' guild. A terrified one.

\---

A faint rustle of leaves.

"Mm-hmm."

A tentative, curious flutter as a stem bends slightly.

"Oh, he'll likely be back by sundown. No need to worry." 

Worried anticipation; a rootlet takes in water. 

"I'm sure he'll love the new sprouts. You've worked very hard on them, I can tell. They're perfectly symmetrical and a lovely shade of green." A turned page. "And I did convince him to give away the woodchipper." 

A long, long pause. Bafflement, slight mistrust in the curve of a vine.

"Well, it did take a little...reframing." Aziraphale adjusts his reading glasses and looks over his shoulder at the fearful conservatory. "He really does want you to grow better, don't get me wrong. And he's not exaggerating how he feels when he sees a spot on you." 

Aziraphale turns another page, still talking over his shoulder. "You see, he's still working off a few things. Some unhealthy old patterns; not that I'm immune to that myself. And once he got it into his head that talking to you could change how you grew, well..."

It's hard for a room full of plants to communicate _blank confusion_ but they manage. 

"Well, look. He sees it as giving you choices. So you can decide how to grow. Choose to grow better, choose to get spots." Aziraphale sighs, closes his book with his finger keeping his place. He turns fully to look into the room, gazing over the lush greenery with general benevolence. "Choices that you might not have known you had before he spoke to you. Well. Yelled at you."

A thoughtful silence, with a faint note of frustration from the orchid in the back.

"Yes, it's not kind, and I'm not fond of it, and I think he's working past some of that anger. But try looking at it from a charitable point of view. Crowley's always been one for inspiring his listeners to believe they can be different. To see themselves as something more than they were. A car, a plant, a human...a friend." 

Curiosity and contemplation. The orchid remains unimpressed.

"Crowley's always had this gift for seeing _potential_. Unfortunately, for him that's often meant being furious with how things are, because they could be so much _better_ if a little effort went in. It does mean that he has faith in one's ability to be better, to do better. To grow and change. Even if one doesn't have faith in themselves." Aziraphale takes off the little reading glasses still perched on his nose. 

"Whereas I have a predilection for things as they _are_." He beams at the garden, radiant with the full light of his love; love for the world exactly as it is, the muddled mess of it all; love for Crowley, and for all things Crowley has touched.

The silence suddenly goes from thoughtful to gobsmacked. A lily in the far corner abruptly bursts into full bloom, followed by a slight atmosphere of embarrassment.

Aziraphale spares a beneficent glance for the lily, then replaces his glasses. 

"So I did have a word with him, about whether punishing what he thinks are the wrong choices with eternal...mulching...wasn't just a little too close to some behavior he finds objectionable in others." He winks at the orchid. "Not that I'm telling you what happens to any plants who leave here. Some things ought to stay secret."

The long afternoon stretches out, and if Aziraphale overhears the beginnings of vegetative debate in the twining leaves behind him, he pretends not to notice.

\--

"You're blocking the hallway again, Aziraphale. That chair used to be way on the west side of the flat, and you've dragged it over here. Any reason why you're in the way?"

"It's the most comfortable chair, my dear. Best lighting, and it's nice to hear you work while I read."

"Yeah, but I have to ask you to move every time I...oh. Old patterns, right. Angel, will you let me into the east door of the garden?" 

"I - Ah. Well. Hm." Aziraphale finally closes the book and blinks back at Crowley, a little stunned by the question. "Yes?"

Crowley rolls his eyes, nudges past him and starts tending to the pots. "You smiled at this one, didn't you?" 

"I may have. A bit."

"And...what in the starred heaven-blasted...this orchid's gone completely mental." He holds up the offending plant. "I swear it had a completely different shape this morning. MUCH neater. The flowerets are practically a different hue entirely. What were you THINKING, you miserable excuse for a Phalaenopsis? Absolute ROT of a silhouette, practically BEGGING to be pruned down to nothing - did YOU LOT LET THIS HAPPEN?" he hisses at the other plants, which tremble.

"Rebellious little sprout, is it?" 

"I SAID IT'S ABSOLUTE - what?" Crowley looks from Aziraphale to the orchid and back again. "Did you - Did you _tempt my plants?"_

"Heavens, no. Not what I do, is it? I'd have to be a bit of bastard to do that." Aziraphale manages to project complete innocence in the face of vegetable unease.

"We. Are going to talk. About this."

"I'd love to. Over a glass of vinho verde, perhaps?" Aziraphale rises from the chair and extends a welcoming hand.

Crowley slams down the orchid, scattering potting soil, and hisses at it "I'm NOT DONE with you." He casts a baleful eye over the rest of them. "And don't think any of YOU are off the hook!" He storms out of the garden, pausing only to glare at the blissful lily.

Only the lily notices Crowley's glare turning into a barely-hidden grin as he accepts Aziraphale's arm, and another embarrassed bud pops into bloom.


End file.
